


The King Has a Golden Tongue

by Anam_Writes



Series: the things you can't read aloud at the war table [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cockblocking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester knows more than he ever wanted to, Married Couple, Oral Sex, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, attempted cockblocking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anam_Writes/pseuds/Anam_Writes
Summary: Lorenz would like the King and Queen to do their duty and close the party.Claude would like to take the knee to do his duty.Byleth is tired of duty and just wants some privacy.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: the things you can't read aloud at the war table [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684297
Comments: 15
Kudos: 108





	The King Has a Golden Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Here! Have some smut!
> 
> Or
> 
> What happens when a friend gives a seminar on sex scenes and technique and I decide to practice.

"Your Majesties?" 

Byleth closed her eyes tight, as though the light from the torches in the hall would be gone if only she could not see them. A silly thought, but that is what she was reduced to, what Claude reduced her to. 

She heard a hush below, the lips that had pressed kisses into her navel only a moment before retreating to speak. 

"Quiet," Claude whispered. "If they catch us they'll make us go back to the party. I know how you hate those royal parties."

If they caught them they would see the Queen of Fódlan with her skirts pushed up and tied off in a knot 'round her waist. They would see one leg slung over his shoulder, his fingers scissoring inside her and her back pressed to the wall. But, of course, this concern was secondary to Claude; his primary goal to keep her pinned beside the doorway for their continued gratification.

Byleth opened her eyes. She watched him register her gaze, his smile growing broad at the sight of her jade eyes on him. He held that contact as he leaned in to slip his tongue past her hood and roll it over her swelling bud. 

"You don't like them any better," Byleth said, thumbing a loose hair back into place with his slicked back curls. 

"Parties?" Claude asked against her. 

He sucked hard. Byleth quaked, the foot pressed to the floor slipping. Claude made a warm sound that tickled her skin, catching her with a hand coming up to her hip and the sturdy, unmoving support of his shoulder under her thigh. 

"No." She answered. "Royal parties."

She stopped, moaned, tried to recollect her thoughts. She felt him smiling, yet she could not muster a retort to his amusement more than gripping his hair in a fist. Claude groaned, fingers taking to pumping instead of their methodical spreading of her and tongue lashing with more pressure, insistence, than there had been before.

He pulled away with a quenched sigh and met her eyes once more. "You're right; I hate royal parties. All I can think about while they pass us around the room for courtesy dances is how my time is better spent alone with you, doing a much different dance."

"Claude, please!" Lorenz' voice has joined the anonymous guardship that has been sent after them. "This is juvenile."

Claude only chuckled and dove back into his work. 

"I heard that, Claude!" Lorenz huffed, indignantly. Heels clicked on the way over to their door along with the rattling of armour behind the Count. Lorenz gave a dainty, practiced knock - so different from his mood - before calling to them. "If you could cease this game and come back to make a final appearance for the night as we discussed, Claude, that would be appreciated."

Claude pulled off her clit with a wet puckering sound. He rolled his eyes and adjusted her thigh so that she angled up, just enough for him to comfortably tilt his head and slip his tongue in beside his fingers. 

Byleth's hand flew over her mouth as Claude's tongue toyed and opened her and his fingers kept apace. 

Lorenz knocked again, harder this time. "Claude, really!"

Claude's tongue slipped back out of her. He darted the tip in once more before licking a long stripe over her clit in consolation for parting. 

"Do you want me to keep going?" He asked. 

Byleth nodded, pressing her hand even harder over her mouth. She could hear his fingers picking up their pace and that was nearly as good as how she was feeling it. The struggle to stay quiet was worse. 

"Wrap up the celebrations without us, Lorenz," Claude called back. "This is important."

"Truly? You do understand that the custom is to - "

"Lorenz, please," Byleth broke her silence to beg. The building pressure in her gut had it come out more like a whine than she intended. 

Claude turned his head. His teeth sank into the milky skin of her inner thigh with little warning. When he pulled away his brow was furrowed. 

"Don't say his name like that," he practically hissed. "The only one you should be pleading with is me."

"Your Majesty," Lorenz addressed her with her title, as he was more inclined to do with her than with her husband. "Is everything alright in there?"

Claude's fingers began to fuck her in earnest. Her body bounced between the wall and the press of his fingers on her sweet spot. He grinned ear-to-ear as he watched her above him. 

She should be so close; yet still she was only building, building, always building. Were attention not divided between Claude and the call to duty, then…

"The Eisner line will die with me," Byleth wailed to the ceiling. "And I swear to the Goddess, Lorenz, it will be all your fault!"

Claude's brow smoothed back over and he laughed more freely as Lorenz sputtered on the other side of the door. 

A line of "but", "tradition," and "your majesty" spilled from his lips.

"I love you," Claude said through his laughter. He was glowing with the truth of it and Byleth shook. 

"Ah! Claude," she cried, fingers coiling in his hair. She didn't think anymore to hold her voice. "Please, ah! Ah!"

"Excuse me while I close the celebrations!" Lorenz yelled over the sound of Byleth's pitched voice. She could have sworn he was scurrying from how quickly he and the guards' footsteps sounded.

"I think you may have traumatized your right hand," Claude said to her. 

Byleth didn't care. She wasn't even really listening. One hand left his head to push at the wall behind her, give her the leverage and friction she needed. 

"Claude!" She cried. "Harder. Harder, please."

Byleth's hips swerved and Claude's laughter died a little as he watched the fluid motion of them. 

"You really are dancing for me now, aren't you?" He spoke low, though he no longer needed to. 

Byleth didn't respond, only continuing to push back onto his fingers and moan to his rhythm. 

Claude took his cue. His tongue joined the dance yet again and it was happening: building, building, building, then -

Byleth gasped.

Claude pulled back. His hand at her hip moved over her thigh, rubbing a soothing pattern into the quaking muscles there. She squeezed round his stilled finger and Claude sighed. "There you go; let it out. Doesn't that feel better? My poor darling had so much pent up, hm? But we made it better."

Byleth did not confirm, because she could not. She could only ride it out on Claude's hand, twitch and whimpering as she let the last pieces of the weight she carried fall away. The hand tangled in his hair shook too much to hang on any longer and it fell down the line of his jaw. He leaned into the touch even as the trembling hand fell down to her side.

“Yes,” Byleth panted through her eventual answer. “All better.”

Claude smiled, carefully unhooking her leg from over his shoulder. She slid down the wall, hair following in a tangled mess, before her knees could let out with the new need to support herself. 

“I’m glad,” he said kissing the tip of her nose. Then the blush on her cheek. Then her forehead. Then back down to her jaw. 

Byleth laughed, breathless. “Your turn now?”

Claude pulled back, laugh returning, deeper in his chest and a little more mischevious. “I don’t know. Seems like too much to ask of you in this state. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

A cheer echoed through the halls, coming from the central ballroom. The last toast had been made, she guessed. The party was over. There was nothing left to hide from in this little room, tucked away from the noise and the crowds; yet tucked away she wanted to stay. 

“No imposition,” Byleth decided. “I can just lie back here and rest and you can do what you will.”

“Certainly not,” Claude huffed. “Not acceptable, not even slightly. You can’t just ‘lie back.’”

Byleth raised a brow, taking another deep breath of air to ground herself a little. “I can’t?”

“No!” Claude said. “I can put my jacket down as a pillow _then_ you can lie back. Never let it be said I gave you anything but the best.”

Byleth watched as Claude shrugged off his coat and looped it between herself and the wall. When he had arranged the billowy long coat just so, he pulled her by the hips eagerly and she laid back smiling. 

“That was your queue to say I gave you the best,” Claude said. 

Byleth closed her eyes and turned to smell the saffron and honey cologne wafting from his coat. “The very best. A good performance.”

“Only good?”

She snorted but said nothing. 

It wasn’t until the moment of peace passed and she felt Claude’s tongue press back into her that Byleth realized she had made a horrible mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> So, would we call this practice session successful?


End file.
